


it’s the one-two beat of your heart in your chest

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Domestic, Incest, M/M, Tumblr: hansencestadvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with Herc and Scott, it starts with Herc and Chuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it’s the one-two beat of your heart in your chest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xero_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xero_Sky/gifts).



> Prompt: _Scott/Chuck, Domestic fluff + Herc finds out?_
> 
> I got super excited when I got this prompt over on tumblr because as many hansencest fics I've written, I never get the chance to write just Scott and Chuck. Though I do apologize for the limited domesticity. For the [Hansencest Advent 2014](http://hansencestadvent.tumblr.com/) :)

Scott Hansen has a mysterious way to how he works, and knowing that, only Hercules Hansen is surprised when his brother shows up in Hong Kong, three weeks after the Breach is closed.

And the Breach closes with fanfare.

With celebration, and cheer, and relief settling over the Pacific Rim. It is not the end of Herc, no matter how it looks. With his red-rimmed eyes and his bone-white grip on the comm., this is the end of Hercules Hansen as the world knows him when the war clock is reset to zero, for good.

This is, however, not the end of the man as those who know him.

Because it starts up like the one-two beat of a heart.

It starts with the blip of a third, fourth pod out at sea.

And seeing his brother again, Herc wonders how he’s ever thought it could start anywhere but with Scott and him. He doesn’t know how to look away, but he doesn’t know how it’s supposed to pick back up when he catches the sight of that single duffel bag slung over Scott’s shoulder.

He packed light, like he isn’t staying long.

He packed light, like he is here to convince Herc to settle for something more than concrete walls and metal doors that open with a keypad.

“You look good.” Herc tells him, his smile a grimace on his face, and his brother still reads him just as easily. Scott drops down in the chair opposite to the desk, raises an eyebrow at the sight of the metal nameplate of one _Marshal H. Hansen_ , and replies without hesitation. “I can’t say the same.”

When his older brother just gives him that same sad excuse of a smile, Scott drops his bag to the ground and leans across the desk, over the clutter of papers and pens, and convinces him for good.

“I’ve learned to share, big bro.”

He is close enough to kiss him, but he doesn’t. For once, Scott waits on Herc, not tugging or pulling to have him as he’d like but rather as he is.

“…Can’t promise you the same ‘bout Chuck though.”

Scott doesn’t bite his lip to contain the laughter, just lets Herc smother it for him when he dips his head and catches his mouth. It isn’t coming home, back to their heydays, back when there is just Lucky’s Conn-Pod and the drift a mess around them.

It’s a second chance, it’s better and it works.

 

They pull up to a house, one with red tiles leading to a front door painted a pale yellow. Herc stays seated in the passenger side of Scott’s truck, looking straight ahead, hands in his lap, fingers laced.

“How long have you planned this?”

And it’s a tentative first step that he asks at all.

“Long enough,” Chuck speaks up, first time since they left PPDC ground, his leg perched precariously in the limited space of the back seats.

“Seems like Charlie knows me best after all.”

Scott doesn’t grab their bags as he gets out, taking Max with him as he does. He lets them be, gives them the room that they need, the kind that doesn’t have the family dog as the buffer between every word muttered. The kind Chuck doesn’t ask for and Herc doesn’t push for, leaves them with the keys still in the ignition, giving them a way out if they want to take it. The _it’s not Charlie anymore and you know it, you arsehole_ gets muffled when he shuts the door behind him.

They don’t admit it, like with everything else, but the silence has always bled out of their drifts and onto everything else when it comes to just the two of them. Their hangovers heavy, keeping them interlocked, sometimes for days after they disengage from Striker.

“Do you want this, Chuck?”

Herc tips his head back, and neither one of them are looking at each other but he is asking, he is trying, and it is different than all the times he is pushing back for the pull he feels.

“He makes you happy.”

“You do too.”

“…I’ve never been him, dad.” Chuck tells him, rubbing a hand through his hair with slight aggravation working through his voice because of course, he would inherit his dad’s awful way with words too. “I can live with this.”

And he’s seen that in the drift, in those half a dozen years of being in Herc’s head, Chuck has never once been Scott for his father. Not even when he is pressing him back against the mattress, and he is the phantom image of his brother, his mouth working around him, throat working against him. The warm flushes of just what Herc feels for him, for Chuck, and no one else, is obvious in the skin on his cheeks, a spread that goes all the way down to his chest.

Herc doesn’t know how to let it be known that his son shouldn’t be living with anything when he should be living for something else entirely. Instead, he just helps him out of the truck.

 

Some days, this house feels too small.

And some days, the exact same dimensions will feel too big for three when he’s been in his head, and him in his, and they are everything he’s got for so, so long. There are three bedrooms, one next to one next to another, side by side.

Chuck’s is closest to the shared bathroom at the end of the hall, Herc’s in the middle, and Scott’s is right by the stairs. And hasn’t that been the three of them all their lives, Herc shared between them, between son and brother, co-pilot and co-pilot.

Most days, it works out easier than any of them imagine it would.

It is two relationships with three people in the equation. It is work, it’s hard work but it’s good work too.

For Scott, he doesn’t believe in rules but he believes in that promise he’s made to Herc in that temporary Marshal’s office back in the Hong Kong ‘dome. He has respect for how Herc and Chuck work, he’s seen them in Striker, and he’s only seeing them out of the machine now.

But it’s just as brilliant.

For Chuck, it takes him weeks and months to tamper down that surge of possession he’s got no claims to when he sees Uncle Scott with his father. It’s knowing that Uncle Scott hasn’t been with Herc for a long, long time, it is also knowing that Herc has always believed that there’s a part of Chuck that ought to want something very, very different than what he can give him.

But Chuck doesn’t just love his father, he is in love with the man.

So, Herc suggests some ground rules.

They oblige.

Most days, it feels like home.

 

It starts with Herc and Scott, it starts with Herc and Chuck.

It starts with Herc leaving the both of them.

That third pod that surfaced belongs to Striker’s 02 pilot, and the fourth pod that did belongs to Stacker Pentecost.

Life goes on from there.

Herc stays on as the Marshal because Stacker cannot do the work he used to do, not by himself at the very least. When he’s still in medical more time of the day than when he’s not, Herc’s been his friend long enough to know that it is only Mako’s constant presence at her father’s side that keeps the man resting in bed.

Because Stacker won’t hesitate in putting himself through the political range of fire first, Herc helps where he can.

He handles those suits and ties, and he handles them like he is still a solemn soldier without the finesse for the smaller things. He doesn’t hesitate in making the call that needs to be made, and keeping the UN at bay from picking at what remains of the PPDC.

When he lands in Hong Kong, it’s not just a _thank you_ for the man who brought his son home. It’s the thank you for not having to attend another funeral with no body.

He leaves his son and his brother back home, and life without the Kaiju War goes on. Herc doesn’t say it, and neither do they, but for another time, he is leaving and it has nothing to do with life and death. It settles something within all three men.

 

The first time Chuck kisses his Uncle Scott full on the mouth, he is surprised at how unlike his brother Scott is.

They are not in love, but they do love each other.

It’s a cascade that has started a long time now. It’s going to be different than anything they had or have with Herc, and they want this too.

They are in a world where there’s no buffer, and it’s not the first time that Herc’s been away but it is the first time Chuck ever entertains the idea that—

Scott kisses like he does with everything else, he kisses with his tongue, with fervour, with his wishes pushing against his teeth. Breaths knocking around in his chest like he can’t be bothered with pulling in enough air when he’s got this, when he’s got him.

And Chuck is nothing like his father, not at this at the very least. Chuck kisses without hesitation, without the start and stop of guilt and pain and all the apologies that Herc is still trying to get out. Chuck kisses with a satisfaction of knowing that this is what he came back for, that when he has him pinned, that this is everything he wants in this very moment, and all the ones following this.

Neither one of them are shy about it, and when Chuck finally pulls back, Scott follows for half a second before he catches himself.

“Should I’ve done that earlier?”

“Don’t ask me, kiddo.” Scott laughs, breathless, and he’s never been one to be surprised. But this, well, this is not something he ever expects to be given, and to have, too.

 

Chuck lets himself get swept up by Scott.

Scott who tugs and pulls, who orbits around Herc like Chuck does. His life coming back to his no matter how far he goes, Chuck to the edge of the Breach, and Scott somewhere in the desert where there’s red sand, shrubs along the horizon, and one road cutting a path into the sun.

Scott gives him this, he also gives him the time the drift doesn’t allow. Scott makes Chuck take the hours of the day one at a time, instead of years in a span of seconds the kid’s used to all his rock star, Jaeger pilot life.

He makes him figure out which spin cycle their laundry should be on. And Chuck reminds him that he hasn’t been living a life in the clouds when he makes him watch him fold their clothes into three different piles and mismatch the same coloured socks because he can.

“Is this supposed to be a challenge, Uncle Scott?”

Their hands are empty of folded laundry, and Chuck has a grin that reminds Scott of all that former glory, the full confidence of a Jaeger pilot that can still fight a good fight. Scott is tempted to drag the kid out into the backyard, their bare feet on their dry yellow grass, pulling his punches if just to see Chuck calling him out on it.

“We can definitely make it one.”

Chuck doesn’t reply, just presses Scott back, pins his hips with his own against the wooden railings of the upstairs landing. He loves him, he truly does.

They re-teach each other how to fuck someone else that isn’t their co-pilot on a single bed in the room between theirs. They figure Herc would know that this is how _I miss you_ is said without those words.

 

Herc comes home on a Thursday night, comes home to the screen doors keeping the easy summer air circulating through the entire house, where the lights have it glowing from the inside out.

When he comes inside, there is Chuck leaning heavily against the counter with one hip, and Herc doesn’t need to take a second look to know that he’s been on his feet for far longer than he should.

“Before you say anything, kiddo’s just as stubborn as his dad.” Scott tells him, turning around from where he is kicking the fridge door shut, one hand with a cold brew and the other with what might be last night’s leftover that he pushes into Herc’s hands. “Know who I can blame for that?”

Herc gives in just as easily to the kiss Scott gives him, tastes him cool and sharp at the corner of his mouth. Herc has been keeping balance for as long as he can remember and some time even before that, it takes very little to see that Chuck doesn’t do that subtle thing he does and tilt his head away.

In turns, he is looking settled, comfortable in a way that has nothing to do with the fact that he is finally getting off of his feet, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Did you two eat yet?” Herc asks, taking the plate from Scott and putting it into the microwave.

The three of them looking to one and the other.

“More than our fill, old man.” Chuck replies, and unlike Scott who hides behind his bottle, his son ducks his head to pet Max that has wandered into the kitchen. “You just worry about yourself.”

Herc may be given an answer, but it isn’t a straight one. The microwave makes itself known, and Herc realizes that he is content with exactly this. That he can trust them with whatever it is even without the drift.

 

It’s the slightest shift, a minute tilt in the balance of this house for three.

It is of Chuck not looking away, of Scott grinning that grin of his, and Herc dropping into his bed, jet lagged and run ragged into the ground from his days spent with the politicians, and feeling like he is missing something big in this small space.

He is standing by the sink, bright yellow rubber gloves splashing water as he washes the dishes when Chuck comes into the kitchen.

“Oi, you’ve seen Max’s leash?”

His grey t-shirt looks like it’s been crumpled with a hand, and he is scanning the room.

Herc makes a vague gesture in the direction of where Max’s mess of a doggy bed is, not that the bulldog sleeps in it much, not with Chuck carrying the dog up the stairs and into his own bed even when Herc spends the night in the kid’s room.

“Thanks, old man.” But before he can get a word out, those four familiar words of _don’t call me that_ , Scott pops his head in and asks. “Can I come?”

Herc sees the line of his son’s shoulders as he shrugs in reply, sees the way Scott’s mouth twists in a smile that would go unnoticed by anyone else.

And it is in this very moment that he understands the extent of that tip in balance.

He lets them go without comment, hears the front door shut behind them with the water running over the soapy dishes. He doesn’t realize that this is what he’s been waiting for since they have built this home for three.

“Bastards probably fucked in my bed too.”

But he is smiling when he mutters that to himself, and it’s a smile that spreads and spreads.

 

It starts with Herc and Scott, and Herc and Chuck.

It starts with his knuckles clenching white in the sheets, his hips raised, his head turned. His nose burying in the folds and everything here between these sheets smells of Hercules even as Chuck presses into him. Scott reaches up, he reaches out, and then he is kissing him too.

It is only a matter of time that it ends with Scott and Chuck.

It always starts with that first beat, followed softer by the second. A sharp inhale, and then the softest exhale as the breath exits in one go. It feels a lot like completion when it finally does.

 

XXX Kuro


End file.
